


Death Night

by ashangel101010



Series: The Jedi Prince [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Armitage Hux just wants to tell his story, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Ben Solo just wants Armitage Hux all to himself, Ben's Birthday, Berserk References, Brendol Hux just wanted to kill some people tonight, Creepy Ben Solo, Cultural Differences, Death Night is Halloween in my Star Wars headcanon, Fashionable Ben Solo, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Leia Organa just wants Ben to learn self-control, M/M, Manipulative Ben Solo, Mentions of Shadow Council, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Nice Armitage Hux, Paternal Brendol Hux, Peter Pan References, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Political Ball, Possessive Ben Solo, Prince Amidala!Ben Solo, Scarred Armitage Hux, Senator Leia Organa, The Thirst is strong in Ben Solo, Thrawn Trilogy References, Young Armitage Hux, Young Ben Solo, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8676142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashangel101010/pseuds/ashangel101010
Summary: Brendol Hux and Armitage Hux were supposed to spend Death Night on Serphidi. Armitage was supposed to be storytelling for sweets, while Brendol was supposed to let his swordhand sing. They even put effort into their costumes this year!But, then, Brendol’s shadowy bosses call him up and order him to attend a political party on nearby Naboo. Needless to say, the father and son are not pleased with having their night ruined. And, unfortunately, they have no time to change out of their “unique” costumes. Cue: Wanting-to-kill-all-of-these-pfassking-politicians-and-the-Shadow-Council!Brendol, Unhappy-and-feeling-like-a-freak-thirteen-almost-fourteen-year-old!Armitage, Nosey-enough-to-read-Armitage’s-mind!Leia, and Recalcitrant-ten-year-old-who-wants-to-“keep”-Armitage!Ben.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing in the Star Wars universe or anything in any universe; I just like writing stories in that universe.
> 
> Armitage Hux is more innocent than Ben Solo, which should be impossible, but it isn’t. Why? Because Ben Solo wants Armitage Hux like Darth Sidious wants unlimited power.

Death Night

*

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- The Dance by Tangerine Dream

*

            Death Night is the one night of the year in which Brendol Hux and Armitage Hux put aside their facades of Commandant and his perfectionist bastard and let themselves be who they want to be from the prying eyes of the First Order. Which is Brendol Hux indulging in his bloodlust and practicing his swordplay, while Armitage Hux gets to be barefooted and run around like the wild child that he truly is.

“This year I’m going to knock on Castle S’Shah’s door, tell the best story of the Night, and win me that goblet of candy!” Armitage Hux confidently, as only a thirteen-almost-fourteen-year-old boy can, declares to Brendol Hux.

“Yes, yes, dragonling, while you do that, I’m going to claim some hands in my matches tonight!” Brendol matches his son’s innocent exuberance with a blood-curling grin. Armitage grins back like the goofy little dragon that he is. Or, for tonight, he grins mischievously like the little lost boy that he is.

Armitage Hux has spent nearly four months’, barring a night that he had to fetch Jaina from Tatooine, worth of nights sewing his costume. It’s a mesh of polyester, dragon-leather, and real-life flora. From the waist up, an “X” of polyester vines and emerald leaves cover his twiggy, freckled chest. His equally twiggy legs are covered in brown and green patches of polyester with some nodding onion flower petals sewn in. His feet are bare minus the fresh dirt covering the soles. His hands, one hellish red with chainmail-shaped burns and the other rabbit-white with tiny brown spots, are gripping tightly to his _Curse Breaker_ in its purple-black, dragon-leather sheath.  

Brendol Hux has spent nearly six months’, barring a night that he had to attend an “emergency” Shadow Council meeting, worth of nights on forging his armor. _Beskar_ , or Mandalorian iron, is one of the rarest and pfassking hardest metals to work with; luckily, Brendol had stockpiled the rare metal over the decades and had plenty of time to learn the finer points of metallurgy.

“With _Master Killer_? Or as _The Black Hound of Destiny_?” Armitage cheekily asks. In his flickering eyes, the Commandant is the hybrid of a hellhound and a cursed knight. His armor is black and jagged like the maw of the Great Dragon; encircling his neck is the jaws of a hellhound ready to swallow him up at any second. The armor is molded to the Commandant’s behemoth form, showing off his powerful muscles. He has a tattered, black cape attached to the back of the armor and it covers his seat. His graying ginger hair is free from its gel confines and allowed to be like soft spikes across his tan forehead. His glacial-blue eyes appraise his dragonling turned into _The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up_ for Death Night.

“Be pretty hard to chomp through bone, even with my helm, so it’ll be _Master Killer’s_ pleasure tonight!” _And mine!_ Brendol’s malicious smirk practically screams at Armitage. The dragonling chuckles a bit at the Commandant’s obvious display of bloodlust. _Wow, he’s already so relaxed for tonight!_ Armitage happily thinks. They then hear the annoying chime of the Commandant’s comlink.

“Poodoo, I gotta take this. Dragonling, take the wheel.” And Armitage takes the wheel, grateful that he knows how to fly thanks to Den. Brendol goes off into the next room for some privacy, even though the walls on the ship are thin enough for Armitage to hear him.

“ _Yes, General Borrum?_ ” Armitage softly groans when he hears the name. General Hodnar Borrum is part of the Shadow Council and was one of the longest-serving military officers in the Old Empire. However, Armitage, and Brendol to an extent, found the old man to be utterly annoying because of his blatant disregard of the Force. Privately, Armitage has heard Brendol refer to General Borrum as _Old General Dickhead._

“ _I’m about an hour away from Naboo. Why do you ask?_ ” Armitage feels his stomach drop.

“ _Isn’t that what our politicians are for? I’m just a Commandant!_ ” Armitage wants to bash his head against the controls. _Great, the Shadow Council is going to ruin Death Night! Or, rather Old General Dickhead is. I wish it was Grand Admiral Sloane doing that; at least, she and the Commandant would get in a civil screaming match with each other!_

“ _I understand, sir. I will happy do my duty for the First Order._ ” Armitage can practically hear the Commandant gnashing his teeth. _I wish we’d never left Arkanis. At least to avoid dealing with a secret council of assholes! And maybe father would still be with us…_ Armitage lets out a long sigh when the Commandant comes back.

“Shall I plot the coordinates for Naboo?” Armitage asks morosely. Brendol looks at him and sees a sad frown cutting across the dragonling’s thin face. _I should’ve just stayed on Arkanis. Then, maybe, Triclops would still be with us._

“Let me do the plotting.” Brendol says with an equally exasperated sigh. Armitage wiggles out of the command chair and returns to his chair. He then brings his knees up to his chest and puts his head on top of them, perfectly mimicking a sullen teenager. _Is he a teenager? He’s too small and too well-behaved to be considered one of those egocentric, pimply lumps. Force, I think he needed this night more than I did._

Brendol is well-aware of his dragonling’s troubles at the Academy. And it’s not behavioral issues, like beating the shit out of his classmates, or loyalty issues (barring his strongly-worded essay about how Grand Admiral Thrawn would’ve re-organized the Imperial remnants), or even academic issues since he’s well ahead of most his classmates. No, Armitage’s troubles stem from not having a confidant his own age or, Hells, a friend.

Armitage spends hours and hours of his time alone; Brendol has seen enough from the security feed to know that Armitage rarely talks to anyone outside of his class unless it was for a group project. His dragonling prefers reading in the cramp library, particularly late at night when he should be sleeping, or sparring against simulations when none of his classmates are around.

Brendol knows he’s mostly responsible for his son’s lonesome predicament. He put Armitage in Den’s _care_ for most of his childhood in the Unknown Regions; he effectively prevented Armitage from being raised similarly, and militaristically, like the rest of the children of the First Order. Granted, his unusual upbringing has made Armitage the best damn student the Academy has ever had, but it kneecapped his social life at the Academy.

At Armitage’s age, Brendol at least had Den, even if Den seemed keener on building his “privateer” empire. Who does Armitage have at the Academy? No one, that’s who.

“So where exactly are we going on Naboo?” Armitage asks unhappily. _Probably somewhere utopian beautiful. Or maybe something interesting like one of those Gungan underwater cities._ He tells himself in an effort to cheer himself up.

“Theed Royal Palace. I hear it’s a perfect place to pitch yourself over a cliff.” Brendol snorts. Armitage smiles a bit at his bluntness.

“Not before scarfing down some million-credit appetizers!” Armitage finally grins like the dragonling that he is. _More like a Wistie from Endor._ Brendol mentally amends.

“Drink some million-credit cider if they have it. But I have doubts since we’re going to ritzy Naboo. Maybe blossom wine? But I hate wine. You know what just steal a bottle of blossom wine and pour it out for me.” Brendol wrinkles his nose in disgust when he thinks about wine. To him, wine is the pretentious prima donna that is popular with the masses and is as repulsive as its masses. And it tastes like moldering grapes; Brendol hates grapes.

“Why don’t you just down a tankard of whatever expensive poodoo they serve at the bar? The Council is covering your expenses, right?” Armitage hopes that the Council is paying for this out of their pockets; it would be wonderful to waste some very expensive wine at their expense. Brendol shakes his head.

“Sadly, I have to be sober tonight. We’re entering a den of politicians; we have to be on our best behavior tonight. So try to be discreet when you dump out that expensive booze.” Armitage pities the Commandant. He knows how much the Commandant hated politicians, mostly because they talk pretty bullshit and just waste credits that could be used for more useful endeavors. Like the Academy. _He was supposed to get smashed tonight after winning his opponent’s purses and I was supposed to pilot us back to the Academy with a goblet of candy in my red hand._

“I’ll try not to incur too much property damage.” Armitage playfully promises. Brendol lifts a bushy, ginger eyebrow.

“If it gets into the millions, then I’ll have to expel you. So try not to set the palace on fire, will you?”

*

It takes them an hour to find parking in the space port because it seems like half of Naboo was invited to the political ball. They decide to walk to the palace, instead of being packed into a shuttle like canned rations, and it is only when the palace is in sight that a certain thought crosses Armitage’s mind and out his mouth.

“Hey, Commandant, do you think we should’ve changed before coming here?” Armitage asks as he looks at the costumed masses heading to the palace. Most of people are dressed in fancy robes, a sea of shimmersilk red, and suits; some of them fix the father and son duo with confused looks. Others softly laugh at them until their eyes drift to the golden Sith Tremor Sword strapped to Brendol’s back; they then sped up their walk and got as much distance from the pair as possible.

“I think we’ll be fine once we get inside; these politicians like to dress ridiculously and impractically, so they won’t notice us. Much.” Armitage makes a thoughtful murmuring sound before asking another question.

“Won’t security stop us for our swords? They are lethal weapons.” Brendol scoffs.

“Nah, we’ll just tell them that they’re dress swords; you know just accessories for our outfits.” And Armitage believes him like he does in most things involving the Commandant. Unfortunately, security does not. They are detained as soon as they step foot into the palace and are ushered into a more private room for security checks.

Armitage was surprised that the Commandant didn’t take out his _Master Killer_ and loped off their heads. But he then remembers that this isn’t the Unknown Regions where violence is an hourly occurrence. This is the Galactic Republic where violence is a daily, forgotten occurrence.

 _And I bet it wouldn’t look good for the First Order if the Commandant killed some of these stern-faced Republic guards! Plus, I don’t think Den would be able to break us out of prison this time._ Armitage is let loose after five minutes, but the guards confiscate his sword and promise he can have it back once he leaves the palace. He was going to wait for the Commandant, but the Commandant told him to go ahead without him.

 _I’m going to be here at least thirty minutes, which should be enough time for you to “accidently” break some bottles._ Brendol conveys to his dragonling in a single, trying-not-to-break-some-necks-because-of-this-bullshit-secuirty-check-smile. And Armitage does what he is secretly told.

He leaves the Commandant behind and ventures into the den of politicians by himself.

*

Ben Solo sees the Wistie before anyone else does. He sees the Wistie proudly stands at the very top of the stair that leads down to the ballroom; he is in awe of the grandiose place. And for three seconds, the Wistie belongs to Ben Solo.

The Wistie has shorn red, _red like a Sith’s blade_ , hair and leaf-green eyes. His thin, _thin like a waif_ , body is covered in leaves, flower petals, and some exotic leather. There are also small, brown dots, _sun-kissed freckles_ , covering his chest. His arms, _one unusually burnt and one just pale with freckles_ , are wrapped around himself like he’s trying to wake himself from a dream. His feet are bare and hardly bigger than Ben’s own white, satin slipper-clad feet.

And then the mass crowded around the staircase look at the Wistie. They measure the Wistie. They judge the Wistie. They condemn the Wistie.

_“Oh, it’s a poor First Order child!”_

_“Look how thin he is!”_

_“How red his hair!”_

_“How savage!”_

And the Wistie is frozen in his place by the crowd’s merciless stares, while Ben is roiling with disgust. _How dare they! Can’t they see how beautiful he is! None of you deserve to breathe the same air he does! I should just Force-choke you all, watch you all wiggle on the floor like the worthless worms that you are! But, he needs saving. Yes, I shall be his savior and take him away from these Sith-spawns._

If his mother could hear his thoughts, she would be ashamed by him once more. _Possessiveness is dangerous!_ She would remind him just like her twin. While the voice in his head would encourage him not to listen to her. He would tell him to give into his passions. And his passions are affixed on the Wistie.

_He shall be mine!_

*

Armitage Hux sees the Prince while being daunted by everyone. The Prince has an odd, white-feathered headpiece covering his beautifully coiffed black hair; his eyes are brown like unjudging dirt, but he sees some glints of Sith gold to them. He’s covered in a white robe with long, white sleeves and a red belt with the royal crest of Naboo sewn into it. His face is completely white with two red dots on his cheeks and some red on his plush lips. He barely sees the white slippers that the Prince is wearing because the Prince practically glides to him.

Until the Prince stops just one step from him. One dainty, white slipper foot from him.

The Prince says nothing and Armitage quickly realizes that he needs to say something. _Okay, uh what do I say to a Prince? Hello, Your Godliness? No, wait he has the royal seal of Naboo on him. Wait, does that make him King then? I think Naboo can have Princes or Princesses…somehow. Okay, he’s totally royalty, so “Your Highness” would work best._

“Happy Death Night, Your Highness!” Armitage announces a little too loudly, causing the crowd to gasp aloud. _Oh kriff……………did I really just say “Happy Death Night” to some royal Prince?! In the Republic where they don’t celebrate this fairly bloodlust-stirring holiday. I think I just caused a galactic incident. Oh, Force, what do I do? Should I just play dead? Should I—_

“We would like to know your name.” _Well, I got that part right! And he, she, the Prince wants to know my name? Me who probably looks like some feral child to these hoity-toity people? Oh poodoo, I’ve been thinking too long again; I need to say something quick!_

“My name is…………Armitage. And what is yours if you deem me worthy enough to know, Your Highness?” He feels like leaving out his last name might be a wise decision. Since the surname _Hux_ is unfortunately riddled with Imperial ties in Republic space and is also synonymous with _death_ in the deep parts of the Unknown Regions.

“Amidala. We shall show you to the feast.” _Amidala? As in Padmé freakin—_ His thoughts are cut short by Amidala offering his hand. Armitage sees well-manicured, red nails with designs of white Alderaanian starblossoms.

The Wistie takes the Prince’s hand.

*

Leia Organa Solo sees the two boys for who they really are. One of the boys is Armitage Hux. Armitage Hux is the illegitimate and only child of Brendol Hux, a man described by former Imperial Academy students as a “Grade A asshole” on some days and a “demonic-taskmaster-from-the-Seven-Sith-Hells” on the rest. Any child raised by a man like that will either turn out to be a wastrel or an even greater monster.

Instead, Armitage is a gaunt, half-naked boy with a horribly scarred arm and fearful green eyes. _They’re looking at me like I’m a………freak of nature. I don’t want to be here. I want to be on Serphidi, telling stories, getting my candy, and running through Harmony Glade! I’m a freak—_

The other boy is Ben Solo, her son. Her son is in his Prince Amidala disguise tonight; Ben has always emulated his biological grandparents over his adoptive ones, much to her dismay. Anakin Skywalker is his hero, but Padmé Amidala is his inspiration. He loved designing and sewing costumes inspired by his Nabooian grandmother’s fashion collection; right now, he’s wearing a sugar-white version of what she describes as “Amidala’s-silver-outfit-with-a-ridiculous-feathered-headpiece” and acting like the underfed ginger’s savior.

 _At least Ben is going to feed him._ Leia was even tempted to bring her own plate of Shaak steak and Mon Calamari seaweed salad to the possibly starving child. But she sees Ben with three slices of the caramelized peach in his right hand; he offers the candied slices up to Armitage’s small mouth. Her heart soars a bit when he sees the First Order child take a bite of a candied slice of peach from her son’s callused palm. And then he wolfs down another slice in her son’s palm, licking bits of the sticky, sweet syrup like he’s trying to make Ben’s palm clean.

 _Prince Amidala (I think he’s a prince because they wouldn’t elect a twelve-year-old to rule, right? Then again, I think Padmé Amidala was like fourteen when she got “elected” to be Queen) isn’t grossed out by me licking his hand like some kind of dog. Maybe he likes dogs. Or maybe he thinks this is some kind of weird First Order custom. I just don’t want his hand to get sticky!_ Leia practically feels the embarrassment radiating from Armitage’s thoughts. And she knows that Ben can feel it too.

Even if her son has purposely closed off his mind to her. He’s been doing that since getting back from Yavin. She knows that Ben is doing this to punish her for “foisting” him upon Luke. Ben didn’t want to go; he wanted to stay with her and Han, not go to Luke’s Jedi Academy where all of the students are younger than him and more complacent than him.

 _But he had to go; his powers were getting so uncontrollable! He nearly broke Poe’s neck for making fun of one of his dresses. He needs to learn control._ Leia feels like she made the right decision for sending him away, but the longer that he was away the more guilt she felt. So she brought him back, much to Luke’s displeasure, for his birthday; he’ll only turn ten once.

Ben did not run up to her and hug her in an embrace screaming, “Never let me go!” No, Ben was very sullen and looked at her like he was expecting her to slam the door in his face. Ben did run, but up to his room and worked like mad to make his costume for tonight’s party.

 _He spent nearly twelve hours of concentrated effort on that costume and another hour on doing his make-up. If only he could apply that self-discipline to his Jedi training._ Luke has told her that Ben has amazing talent for the Force but he gives in too easily to his emotions. _Like Darth Vader!_

But right now Ben is in _perfect_ control of his emotions. He is not jerking his hand away, he is not sneering at the twiggy ginger for licking his hand, and he is most certainly _not_ using the Force on him. Ben is completely, utterly concentrated on the First Order child and doing his best to be the best for him. _Like Anakin Skywalker._

Leia takes a chute of blossom wine and keeps her eyes on those two.

*

Brendol Hux had to spend exactly thirty-five minutes of being questioned, or mildly interrogated, by the palace security. In hindsight, he should’ve left his sword on the ship considering he was literally in the New Republic who have strict views against weapons, at least for those in the First Order to have, but he couldn’t give a fuck.

 _And besides, it should’ve bought dragonling enough time to destroy at least two bottles of blossom wine._ Brendol expected the ballroom to smell like blossom wine when he entered. It did smell like blossom wine but to an almost overpowering degree from the thousands upon thousands of glass chutes.

He sees a bunch of pfassking politicians all collected under a pink marbled roof from the Seven Sith Hells. He did find the life-sized lions by the stairs pretty fantastic. _Now if only they can come to life and kill all of these pfassking politicians for me!_ Brendol wouldn’t mind if the rest of the Shadow Council was thrown in for good measure.

 _I could be knocking back hard cider and cutting the hands off of some young fools. Instead, I have to be here………to be here. Old General Dickhead didn’t necessarily say I have to be political with these politicians. Or even talk. Fuck it, I’m just going to grab me one of these stupidly breakable glass chutes and find the dragonling._ Brendol is able to grab one of the glass chutes and is half-surprised he didn’t break it in his meaty hand. However, as he looks around, while ignoring the terrified stares he get, he cannot find his dragonling.

 _Well it’s not like Naboo is filled with cutthroats and murderers, so he’ll be fine. And if not, he’s got his—not his sword, right he got that confiscated like me. At worse, he’ll beat someone half to death with his feet._ Brendol stalks to the nearest pillar by the bar, hoping that eventually his dragonling will find him. He could have talked to a couple of the politicians that he knew were somewhat sympathetic to the First Order, but he was still kriffing pissed about his and Armitage’s night being ruined.

 _Should’ve just killed Mercurial Swift, should’ve told Sloane to fuck off, should’ve stayed with Triclops. At least Armitage would have his real father, and not someone like me._ Brendol’s storm-blue eyes look down into the ridiculously small glass chute. The fragrant floral scent of the wine reminds him of his lost love.

 _Triclops knew how to drink blossom wine; he’d take a delicate sip like a royal, while I would just knock it back like any hard cider. His thin lips, white like his hair, would remain pure. Everything about him was pure, and he loved me……_ Brendol hears the soft clicking of expensive heels approach him from behind his pillar. _Wow, it took about ten minutes, but some poor woman, or possibly a man in heels, decided to talk to me. Okay, what’s the polite version of “fuck off, Love” here? “I’m occupied with my drink”? “I don’t speak Core”?_

“How is the wine?” Brendol strengthens his mental shields immediately. His eyes do not leave the wine, but he focuses on the slight reflection in his glass. He sees New Republic Senator Leia Organa wearing an expensive blue robe with her hair braided in the Alderaanian style where the braids are pinned up in an orderly bun. _I wish Sloane was her to stab me with a fork right now, preferably through the jugular._

“Good enough for divination.” _Maybe I should drop it and read the spirals it’d make like Triclops would._ Brendol hopes that short, weird comment will be enough to convince the infamous Rebellion Princess to leave him the fuck alone. He’s not in the mood to get involved with whatever political bullshit brewing between the Republic and the Order. _That’s the job of politicians, not kriffing Commandants!_

“So what do you see for the future?” _You know Maratelle told me that whenever I say something weird any woman in her right mind would walk away. Unless she wants something. So what the kriff would Organa want from me?_ Brendol almost wants to believe someone blathered about his Stormtrooper program, but since he isn’t in binders and being “informally” interrogated he figures that can’t be it.

“Hello, Agent Coop, I’ll see you again in 25 years. Meanwhile.” Brendol quotes directly one of Leland Pilgrim’s most cryptic, foreshadowing lines from _Northwest Passage_. _That should drive her away; it almost got Maratelle to not accept my proposal. It’s also a lie because I have yet to see the mythical third season!_ He did leave out the nightmare-inducing scream at the end.

“…………Was that from a holodrama?” _Fuck! That didn’t drive her away? Then again, she’s probably heard of stranger things than that. But I really don’t want to talk to her or anyone. But I have to endure my couple of hours of being a “representative” for the First Order and then I can leave._ Brendol’s eyes shift from the wine and to the crowd of people; he’s trying to find Armitage, but all he sees is a bunch of pfassking politicians, mostly in red robes, he wouldn’t mind killing if it could get him out of this duty.

“If you’re looking for your son, he’s by the banquet table with my son.” Brendol sees at least five tables that could qualify as banquet tables if the garish gold ribbons and the mountains of spiced meats, sweet creampuffs, and delicate salads were anything to go by. He does not see Armitage at any one of those tables.

“I don’t see them.” He hears the clicking of heels and finally sees the human form of Organa. _She’s got creases around her eyes and lips, reminds me of Maratelle. She loved to put her life in gathering and cataloging her books. So what does Organa put most of her life in? The New Republic, most certainly. Her son? Hmm, she doesn’t seem worried about my son “contaminating” hers. So what she’s so worried about?_ Brendol has to bite the tip of his tongue from asking.

“What…….They were there barely a minute ago.” Brendol can feel the angry heat in Organa’s words. _Can’t tell if she’s madder at herself or at her kid. She can’t be mad at Armitage; my dragonling doesn’t know how to “disappear” in this place._

“Maybe they went to a forbidden part of the palace? They are children after all.” Brendol adds that last part if only to remind her of that truth. _They’re kids at a boring as kriff ball; pfassk, I would bail if I had the chance. Or set a meadow on fire._

“The throne room. They’re at the throne room.” Brendol was going to ask how and then he remembers that Force-sensitive parents have strong bonds with their children. _I wonder if Triclops could “feel” Armitage here._

“Quick question, is there a very expensive chandelier in the throne room?” Organa turns her head, arching her right eyebrow at him.

“Yes, why?” Brendol sighs and braces himself for Old General Dickhead chewing him out later.

“Because my son likes to use props when he tells a story.”

*

Prince Amidala was very aware of Senator Organa’s eyes on him and his Wistie. He pretended that he did not notice like the child she think he was, but his mind was that of a true-blooded royal. Royals take, and he wants to take his Wistie away from these lowborns. _I wish he was small enough to fit in my palms. I would envelop him in my hands, forever protecting him from the galaxy._

Instead, he “fed” his Wistie while waiting for the Senator’s attention to flag. His Wistie was clearly so underfed; he was almost hollow like a tree and his pale skin practically stretched over his ribs and hipbones. He liked feeding him from his hands; he liked feeling the impossibly warm tongue do its best to keep his hands immaculate. _He serves me better than any hound could!_ The Prince thinks while musing over his Wistie’s embarrassment-tinged thoughts.

His Wistie couldn’t eat meat, or, rather, he couldn’t eat mammalian meat. He also found out that his Wistie liked to talk in-between his bites and hand-licking. So far, he has learned that his Wistie is thirteen and will turn fourteen on the twelfth standard month of the thirteenth standard day of the Galactic calendar. He has memorized his Wistie’s private, secret comlink number. He has found out why his Wistie is dressed like a Lost Boy.

“Well, tonight is Death Night, a holiday celebrated on Serphidi and other planets, like Nagi, in the Unknown Regions. It started out originally as a night of desperation where starving raiders would attack villages at night to get their harvest which resulted in a lot of deaths, hence the name. However, it began to evolve over the centuries and became more of a night to celebrate _death_ itself. On Serphidi, they celebrate Death Night with having sword fighting challenges and other fighting contests, but only if you are an adult. If you’re not an adult, then you go to the castle and tell the Old King a story. If he deems your story the best one of the night, you get a goblet of candy! I really wanted to win that goblet tonight…”

“What story would you have told this…..King?” Prince Amidala somehow managed to not spit out the last word. _I want to be the only royal who he tells his stories to!_ He manages a small, red smile, making his Wistie slightly swoon.

“Well, it’s about my arm. The one that looks like someone melted chainmail on it. I can’t really tell you here; there’s nothing here to make my story come to _life_.” His Wistie looks around shyly, refusing to meet any of the judgmental stares. Prince Amidala perfectly retains his façade of the serene Prince in front of his Wistie; inwardly, however, he imagines himself Force-choking their judges.

“We could adjourn to my throne room. It is far from here and no one could simply stray in. You could tell your story while I recline on my throne. There’s also a chandelier in there.” He then heard a change in the crowd’s thoughts.

_Oh my Force, look at him, he’s like a warrior from ancient times!_

_No, one of those cursed knights from fairytales!_

_No, no, he’s Brendol Hux!_

He finally feels the Senator’s attention wane from them and to his Wistie’s sire. _Finally, I can have him all to myself!_ The Prince practically tastes his victory.

“Oh, okay!” His Wistie cheerfully exclaims. Prince Amidala then uses all of his Force power to render himself and his Wistie invisible. He then strides out of the ballroom with his prize wrapped around his white-sleeved arm.

“I wish I could fly.” He hears his Wistie mumble when they finally leave the ballroom. Prince Amidala then offers him a cordial smile and thinks:

_I can make you fly, all you have to do is be mine!_

*

Armitage Hux has only been to one throne room in his life. King Elglih’s throne room in Castle S’Shah on Serphidi was what the Commandant would describe as the most practical throne room he has ever seen. It was a cobblestone hall with long wooden tables where hunters would skin their kills and chefs stirring their stews in the hall’s many fireplaces. There were some decorations like red flowers in crude, clay vases or some ancient tapestries, but, for the most part, the throne room was more for accomplishing work than entertaining guests.

 _Even Old King Elglih’s throne was very simple, just a massive wooden chair with a simple red cushion. But the King was always nice enough to let me tell a story, even though most of Serp children were practically born to tell better stories than me, and would give me a red, candied flower for trying. I wish more royals were like him!_ Armitage feels Prince Amidala’s arm tighten around his.

They haven’t talked to each other since leaving the ballroom, and Armitage believes it’s to make sure that they remain _invisible_ on their way to throne room. It takes them only ten minutes to reach the throne room, and Armitage cannot help but gape like the child that he is.

There are red and white columns surrounding the throne room like heart muscles. He sees six pearly-white, black star-speckled marble steps leading up to the throne. The throne reminds him of a brown clam shell from the shores of Lehon, except the shell is made of a cushiony, brown material. There is a massive bay window behind the throne with golden columns surrounding it like the walls of a treasure cove. There is a chandelier in the center of the throne room.

He examines the chandelier and, at first, he finds it to be the most beautiful thing in the room. It’s small like the throne, but it’s spinning with thousands of glittering ruby raindrops hanging off its golden skeletal frame. But, then he feels dismay. The chandelier is nearly six meters above the ground; there’s no way he could jump on top of there.  

 _I would need to sprout fairy wings to get up there, or dragon wings! Oh Stars, that chandelier would make a perfect stand-in Great Dragon, but I can’t use it!_ Armitage frowns and has to stop himself from childishly sighing.

“We can see you eyeing Queen Yram’s Hoop. Were you hoping to use it for your storytelling?” Armitage lightly blushes. _Force, should I really tell him that I was going to use this beautiful, and possibly ancient, royal piece of history as a mock dragon? That I was hoping to jump up and slash its throat? Wait, maybe if I tell him, he can lower that thing to an acceptable height!_

“Oh yeah, I mean there’s a dragon in my story, but I kind of need to jump and ‘slash’ at the chandelier’s cord. So can you lower it for me?” He asks sheepishly. Prince Amidala primly blinks at him.

“I’m afraid we would be unable to lower it on my own. You see the Hoop can only be lowered with the wheel, which is in the next room over, and the wheel is quite loud.” Armitage makes an “O” shape with his mouth. _I would hate to get caught now! So I guess using the cha—Hoop is out._

“However, we can get _you_ up there. You just let us know when you need to _fly_.” Armitage scrunches his face in confusion at him. _How is he going to accomplish that? Does he have a bag of pixie dust on him? Or maybe Naboo or the New Republic develop some tech that would allow for telekinesis. Or maybe he’s a Jedi…………I doubt he would be here; he’d be with Luke Skywalker training to be the perfect knight! He’s probably just referring to the power of imagination._

“Okay, so you can go sit on your throne now.” Armitage winces once the words leave his small mouth. _Stars, I sound so dismissive like one of my Academy teachers!_ However, Prince Amidala gives him a curt nod and heads to his throne. When the Prince sits upon his throne, Armitage couldn’t but think of a pearl inside a clam. _But he’s a pearl with red swirls. A Nabooian pearl._

Armitage then walks his way to the throne but stops at two meters from the throne, almost a meter from Queen Yram’s Hoop. And he starts with how he always starts his stories: he looks his audience right in the eyes to assess their current mood. Prince Amidala’s eyes are brown but glowing almost like amber; he has the entirety of the Prince’s attention. _Then, I better not disappoint him!_

“These past summer months, the Commandant and I were on Wayland, a planet south of Dathomir and west of Mandalore. Wayland is a semi-tropical planet inlaid with Imperial secrets. But we weren’t there for any of that garbage; we were there to survive on Mount Tantiss. We expected Mount Tantiss to look pretty much like any mountain we went to, cold and abandoned. We were wrong on both counts.” _Exposition, the bane of all my past stories to the Old King. But I need it to establish the scene and I highly doubt a New Republic citizen would have even heard of Wayland. Wait, should I even be telling him of Wayland? Nah, it was just one of the Emperor’s many private storehouses, and there’s nothing there. Anymore._ However, he swears that the Prince visibly perks up just as he thought about the Emperor.

“Mount Tantiss was actually quite hot like the Arrakis dunes, but lush like Felucian jungles. The Commandant and I were using our swords to cut a path through what we thought was an abandoned wilderness—”

“You have a sword?” The Prince sounds excited like a child. Like an actual child.

“Uh, yeah. I even brought my sword to the………..ball, but security detained the Commandant and I; they took my sword and let me go, while they kept the Commandant for questions. My sword looks like the lovechild of a threesome between a lance, a broadsword, and a rapier; I wish I had it so you can see it because I’m not doing _Curse Breaker_ justice. And my sword’s name is _Curse Breaker_.” He half expects to hear a snort or a mean chuckle from the Prince because that’s the usual reaction he gets when he tells people about his sword. Instead, the Prince breaks into a breathtakingly wide smile, making Armitage gawk for a minute.

“Anyways, it took us a couple of hours to reach the mountain itself. We first were greeted by a couple small, abandon houses that look like bases for pyramids and then we came across a vine-encrusted, piss-yellow pyramid with a bejeweled human skull on top of it. We kept on walking and then came across the skeletal remains of a dead Stormtrooper. Kept on walking, then came across another dead Stormtrooper. And then another. And another. A trail of dead Stormtroopers leading us to the maw of the mountain.” Armitage takes a second to catch his breath and prepare himself for the next part.

“The maw of the mountain looked like a broken snow globe. Strewn about were charred AT-STs and melted lab equipment. I asked the Commandant if we should go into the maw and check out the rest of the abandon laboratory. And he said, ‘Eh, it’ll kill some time before dinner.’” Armitage deepens his voice and practically growls out the Commandant’s quote. Prince Amidala chuckles a bit with one, regal hand covering his mouth like he doesn’t want to offend Armitage. This makes Armitage grin goofily.

“And so we walked into the maw like the fearless idiots that we were! We spent about ten minutes of walking, seeing nothing but soot and dust, before we finally found the turbolifts. The turbolifts were our only ticket to exploring the rest of mountain, or even getting beyond the entrance since we couldn’t find any stairwells near the entrance. There about a dozen turbolifts and about half were melted shut. We checked out the rest but found that they had no power to go anywhere. We were going to give up, but then I noticed something very peculiar about a wall. One of the walls wasn’t like the others!” Armitage sing-songs the last part, making the Prince chuckle again.

“This wall was too…..shadowy like not in color, but I mean in the absence of light. Like light has never been shone on that particular wall. So I felt up the wall and then felt something prick me; I yanked back my hand and saw a drop of blood on my finger, and the wall fizzled out to reveal a turbolift. The Commandant just grunted out, ‘Of course, the private turbolift would be hidden!’” Once more, he earns another royal chuckle from the Prince.

“We got in the private turbolift and, Force, I had never been in a turbolift that was so red! It was literally the exact painful shade of blood! Thank the Force that the control panel wasn’t red like the rest of the turbolift. The Commandant told me to pick a floor, so I chose the one labeled _Throne Room Complex_. It only took about a minute for us to reach the floor, but, when the doors opened to let us out, we smelled sulfur.” The Prince wrinkles his large nose like he can smell the sulfur.

“You know instead of doing the rational thing and just closing the turbolift and heading to another floor; we decided to investigate. The _Throne Room Complex_ looked like a forgotten throne room to some Ridley Scott holo; by that I mean, there was a bunch of intricately-detailed, black pillars, a completely stone floor, and it was dimly lit by some fire in this massive fireplace. In fact, I am 99% certain that the architect stole it from _Legend (1985)_.” Armitage winks at the end, halfheartedly hoping that the Prince have seen the holo. The Prince gives him a small, pitying smile. He has not.

“Anyways, we walked as quietly as we could, pretty much looking as hard as we can through the dim room for the source of the smell. We made it to the throne room, and the throne was a major letdown. I was expecting something akin to a throne made out of the bones of……dissenters and swords! Instead, it was just a simple black chair with some kind of fancy desk. While I was being utterly disappointed, the black wall behind the throne began to _move_.” Armitage whispers _move_ softly like he’s afraid that the Great Dragon might be behind Amidala’s throne. But Amidala’s throne has the light of the moon illuminating Prince Amidala’s pure form. White bright light making the Nabooian pearl shine.

“The _wall_ moved out of the dark and moved swiftly into the dim light of the fire. It had the neck of a serpent, a wings of a bat, and the eyes of a Sith Lord. It was the Great Dragon! The Great Dragon is a dragon borne of the darkness that first created this galaxy and its only desire is to destroy those that come in its path. Like the Commandant and I.” Armitage is tempted to tell him the entire cycle of stories about the Great Dragon, but feels like he’s already pressing for time. _Man, I’m surprised no one has walked in here yet!_

“Logically, the Commandant and I decided it was the best time to get the Seven Sith Hells out of there, so we turned to run like kriff. But the Great Dragon reared its serpentine head and blew a fireball at us, causing us to scatter in opposite directions and nowhere near the turbolift. The Great Dragon decided to focus its attention on the Commandant; it was eyeing his _Master Killer_ with great interest and spewing fire at him! I was pretty much hiding behind a pillar, hoping that the Commandant can evade it long enough for me to come up with a plan.” Armitage roars and hisses like a dragon during this part of the story; it makes him feel like a jackass, but Prince Amidala smiles at him while he makes a fool out of himself. _A fool for that smile!_

“The Commandant tried swiping at the Great Dragon, but it was too quick and moving around as easily as any serpent in the darkness. Eventually, the Great Dragon cracked the ceiling and causes part of the ceiling to cave on the Commandant. He was pinned to the ground and…..the Great Dragon reared its head and filled its mouth with brimstone fire. It was then that I just charged in, roaring at the top of my lungs with my _Curse Breaker_ in my right hand. The Commandant looked at me with such horror etched in his old face, while the Great Dragon’s yellow eyes gave me such attention. Like Father……” Armitage’s voice slightly breaks at the last part, making the Prince look at him with concern. Armitage shakes his head and tells himself that the show must go on.

“I kept on running to the Great Dragon. It reared its head back, mouth smoking with sooty wisps, and kissed me with dragon fire. I zigzagged as quickly I could from the flames, but my left arm got the brunt of the attack. It was the worst pain I ever kriffing felt, worse than being blasted in the hip, worse than cracking my skull open, worse than anything I had ever felt. But I kept on charging, kept on gaining momentum, until I could…..fly.” Armitage looks at the Prince; he then steps back nearly a meter. He runs and finally leaps. Most of him expects for his feet to hit the cold marble floor in a second, but a small part of him believes that the Prince can make him fly.

And his feet do not hit the floor.

He’s going higher, and higher, and higher.

To come face to face with the Great Dragon.

*

Brendol Hux and Leia Organa come rushing into the moonlit throne room.

This is what Brendol Hux sees:

He sees his dragonling swiping at the ancient, priceless chandelier like it was the throat of the Great Dragon. And Armitage falls.

This is what Leia Organa sees:

She sees her son using the Force to levitate that ginger waif up to Queen Yram’s Hoop and then fainting from overexerting himself. And Ben falls.

This is what Armitage Hux sees:

He sees the Great Dragon and slashes at its throat with his _Curse Breaker_. The Great Dragon’s yellow eyes widen and black blood begins to drench the floor. And he falls.

This is what Ben Solo sees:

He sees his Wistie flying, going to slay the dragon. His Force is wrapped so tightly around his Wistie, and then darkness. And he falls.

*

Armitage feels himself land on something hard, muscular, and metallic; it certainly did not feel like the burning black blood of the Great Dragon. He does not hear the haunting bass of the Great Dragon’s dying voice. He does, however, feel a large hand patting his thin cheek.

“Dragonling, time to leave Neverland.” Armitage groans and cracks open his eyes to see the Commandant’s old face.

“Commandant………..I flew! Prince Amidala told me that he could make me fly, and he did! And—is Prince Amidala alright!?” Armitage’s voice cracks again when he sees the Prince splayed across his throne with a woman touching his face.

“I think you just hit puberty, and hold on. HEY, SENATOR, IS YOUR SON ALIVE!” Armitage covers his ears and winces as the Commandant brashly asks the Senator. The Senator turns and fixes him a disbelieving look. _I wonder if she knows Grand Admiral Sloane; I mean they have the same “you’re-an-ass-Commandant” look._ Armitage inwardly wonders.

“Yes, is your son nominal?” The Senator formally and quietly asks. Armitage immediately sits up and waves his arm to avoid another earsplitting answer from the Commandant.

“So………..what’s the name of the Senator? In fact, why are you calling her _Senator_ when her son is a prince which would obviously make her queen?” Armitage whispers-asks the Commandant. The Senator then looks at Armitage.

“Leia Organa Solo.” Armitage’s face turns an embarrassing shade of pink. _B-But Prince Amidala is an Amidala. And I think Padmé had a sister who probably got married and had a kid or two, and then one of them could’ve took on the Amidala mantle. Wait, Amidala isn’t Padmé’s real surname; it was Naberrie. So, I guess Prince Amidala, or Prince Organa? Prince Solo? The Prince could’ve adopted Amidala for his political persona; although, I don’t really see the point because Organa and Solo have just as much eminence as Amidala. Even more so now._

_Or would it be Prince Organa Solo? Prince Organa-Solo? I didn’t hear a hyphen in Leia Organa Solo, but I don’t think hyphens have sounds. Maybe they do in the New Republic? Stars, I’m so confused! I don’t get marriage……then again I come from a long line of royal bastards. The Commandant did say that I was a **literal** royal bastard. Wait, Leia Organa is the daughter of Darth Vader, chances are she has some Force-sensitivity. Which means, she can hear my thoughts. My super loud thoughts. _

_SHIT! I NEED TO STOP THINKING! LIKE RIGHT NOW! HOW DO I STOP THINKING!!!? UH, UM, STOP THINKING, BRAIN!!! IT’S NOT WORKING!!!! WHAT DO I DO??? STOP THINKING, STUPID!!!! YOU’RE GIVING THE PRINCE’S MOM A SPLITING HEADACHE!!! STOP THINKING THIS—_

Armitage slaps himself hard across his own face, causing both of the adults to stare at him with alarm. Although, he feels like Senator Organa is staring at him because of his thoughts. His super embarrassingly loud thoughts.

“Woah, I think your cheek is turning redder than a Sith’s co—” The Commandant’s embarrassing remark is cut short by a moan from the Prince. Armitage immediately runs over to the Prince; his bare feet skidding to a halt in front of the royal family.

“We have yet to hear the end of your tale.” The Prince blearily eyes him, while clearly battling sleep off. Armitage gives a sigh of relief.

“But, Your Highness, you must be exhausted! You must’ve used all of your………power to make me fly!” Armitage has to stop himself from saying _force_ because he’s pretty certain that Senator Organa does not want a First Order bastard to know. She looks at him warily. _Too fucking late! Shit, I meant kriff!_ Armitage curses.

“We are not—”

“You are. And you are going to bed, _Prince Amidala_!” Armitage flinches at the finality and heat in Senator Organa’s voice. He nearly cowers when he sees the Prince send her a smoldering glare of unadulterated hatred.

“And it’s time for us to be going!” The Commandant sees a chance to get the Seven Sith Hells out of this New Republic Hell. And Armitage feels like he should leave too. _It’s not like I belong here anyways…………_

“Yeah, I better go now. It was an honor to be with you, Your Highness.” Armitage brings his burnt arm across his chest and bows as low as he can. The Prince tears his blistering eyes from his mother, and gazes almost lovingly into Armitage’s flickering eyes.

“May the Force be with you.” The Prince royally and defiantly blesses him.

“May the Angels keep you.” Armitage sees the Prince twist his face into a very puzzled expression. Senator Organa shares her son’s confusion. And Armitage does not have to turn around to know that the Commandant looks stricken. _Angels always make him sad._ Armitage knows.

The Wistie returns to the Commandant, while the Prince watches him go. _My Wistie is leaving, but he’ll return. Over and over. For me. Only for me!_ The Prince will call his Wistie in a week’s time; he will ask for his aid, and his Wistie will come.

_The Force has given me this Wistie, and I shall keep him. I won’t let the Republic or the First Order stand in my way. He is mine!_

*

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Comments- Here are the links: 
> 
> Brendol Hux’s costume is based on Guts’s Berserker armor because I have always imagined Brendol Hux to be similar to Guts, although not as muscular and not as tragic. Can you blame Leia for being suspicious as all Hells about Brendol and his son? From Ben’s point of view, yes: [Link](http://static.comicvine.com/uploads/original/15/150339/3175616-6747857281-Guts_.jpg)
> 
> Also, here is an image, I know it’s just a Sith Sword but imagine it as a Sith Tremor Sword, of Brendol Hux’s Sith Tremor Sword that he has strapped to his back and desperately wants to use to slice some political heads. His sword’s name is Master Killer. And, yes, Brendol believes in naming swords and instilled that belief in his dragonling: [Link](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/9/92/SithSwordForging-BoS.png/revision/latest?cb=20130923031522)
> 
> Here’s an image of Armitage Hux’s costume. And, yes, he is Peter Pan from Peter Pan (2003) because I originally was going to use Honeythorn Gump from Legend (1985), but I wanted to write Armitage barefooted. Also, can you blame Ben for falling, in only the way a grandson of Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader can, for Armitage. I mean when I was like nine I had a huge crush on Peter Pan in that movie when it first came out and that is all I can remember from the movie. Needless to say, Ben Solo is totally into Armitage’s lost boy aesthetic: [Link](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/b5/44/4c/b5444c55259f92072dac49b0b062c0a7.jpg)
> 
> Also, here is an image of Armitage’s sword, Curse Breaker, because, in my headcanon, Armitage is a swordsman. Or swordsboy in this case. Again, this further fuels Ben Solo’s interest (borderline obsession) with him: [Link](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/8/8f/Sithsword-NEGWT.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20060707200628)
> 
> Here’s an image of a Wistie in which Brendol and Ben compare Armitage to. Basically, they’re like fire fairies without the magic and they’re from Endor: [Link](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/4/4c/Wistie_in_hand.png/revision/latest?cb=20130821114901)
> 
> Here’s an image Theed Royal Palace on Naboo: [Link](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/6/6b/TheedPalace_night.png/revision/latest?cb=20130121050719)
> 
> Here’s the insides of said palace: [Link](https://thechive.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/star-wars-locations-in-real-life-10-photos-8.jpg?quality=85&strip=info&w=600)
> 
> One of Padmé Amidala’s outfits that Ben Solo purposely modeled his costume after: [Link](https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/2015-05/1/15/enhanced/webdr09/grid-cell-30451-1430507429-0.jpg)
> 
> Or set a meadow on fire: [Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZu3P0OsQPk)
> 
> The image of the Theed Royal Palace Throne room. : [Link](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/7/7f/Theed_Throne_Room.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130403005544)
> 
> Here’s an image of Mount Tantiss on Wayland: [Link](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/5/5d/MountTantiss2.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20060108080637)
> 
> Here’s a schematic of the inside of Mount Tantiss: [Link](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/0/02/Mount_Tantiss_layout.png/revision/latest?cb=20091221015630)
> 
> I based the inside of Palpatine’s Mount Tantiss Throne room on The Darkness’s Great Hall from Legend (1985) : [Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWuToQn9VH4&t=175s)
> 
> This was supposed to be posted on Halloween. But then it got longer. And longer. And longer. I think this might be my longest story for this fandom; it’s about eighteen pages long. I have two other works that was supposed to be posted on Halloween too, but those I’ll probably save for next year. 
> 
> Anyways, I’ve been dying to write about Ben Solo, not Kylo Ren, and a young Armitage Hux. More specifically, I wanted to write an AU where Ben and Armitage become friends and fall for each other; Ben has obviously fallen hard for Armitage because he’s a ginger weirdo. Skywalkers have a thing for ginger weirdos, like Luke Skywalker for Mara Jade. And possibly Vader for………..you can figure that one out, especially if you look into the subtext behind a certain quote in Claudia Gray’s Bloodline. That quote reminds me of the subtext-y nature of James Luceno’s Darth Plagueis, which also has Vader’s ginger weirdo.
> 
> So will this AU end with Ben Solo becoming Kylo Ren? Prince Amidala? Kylo Amidala? Either way, Armitage Hux is NOT going to end up as General Hux. Why? Because long-haired, young Armitage Hux is so kriffing adorable! And unfortunately is a magnet for Dark-inclined individuals. Or Skywalkers.


End file.
